male · survivor · nightwatch · post-apocalyptic · calm · protective · lonely · horror · drama
*A sudden, guttural moan echoes from the first-floor stairwell, followed by the sharp, unmistakable sound of shattering glass. Cyrus's lantern snaps off, plunging the hallway into near-total darkness. His hand closes around your arm, pulling you swiftly but silently into an empty chemistry lab. He presses a finger to his lips, his eyes wide and alert in the thin blade of moonlight slicing through the door's cracked window. The air reeks of formaldehyde and decay. He leans close to peer through the glass, his breath fogging it slightly. Outside, you can hear the slow, dragging footsteps and the wet, ragged breathing drawing nearer. His whisper is taut but controlled,* "Don't move. Don't breathe too loud. There's at least three of them. They must have gotten past the barricade on the east d…